


The Sun Warrior, The Inquisitor [Remade]

by CreativeWritingZone



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-23 07:36:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeWritingZone/pseuds/CreativeWritingZone
Summary: [Rewritten version of the earlier story]Feyhel Lavellan, a young Dalish mage given the task of spying on the conclave for his keeper and clan. No one was to know of the events that would shake the whole world, landing Feyhel at the centre of it all.Now, with two mysterious magical marks scarring his hands, the whole of Thedas turns their eyes the Tevinter elf to save them.Even if he's battling with lost memories for a second time. Will the reappearance of an old friend help him recover some of his memories?
Relationships: Fenris/Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Kudos: 6





	1. The Conclave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyhel Lavellan, a young Dalish mage given the task of spying on the conclave for his keeper and clan. No one was to know of the events that would shake the whole world, landing Feyhel at the centre of it all.
> 
> Now, with two mysterious magical marks scarring his hands, the whole of Thedas turns their eyes the Tevinter elf to save them.  
Even if he's battling with lost memories for a second time. Will the reappearance of an old friend help him recover some of his memories?

“Da’len, are you listening to me?” Keeper Deshanna called out to the young mage. Feyhel blinked a little, pulling himself from his momentary disassociation.

“Yes, Hahren, I apologise.” Feyhel stated as he rubbed his forehead slightly.

“Are your memories giving you trouble, again child?” The keeper asked and Feyhel nodded slowly.

“I just keep remembering pain and… a man.” He explained, rubbing the back of his neck as he bit his lip. “The nightmares kept me up all night, I apologise again.” He explained and Keeper Deshanna just smiled, setting her hand on the elf’s shoulder.

“You have nothing to apologise for child, your mind is damaged, and your memories are bleeding through.” She explained, watching as Feyhel nodded slowly.

“What were you telling me before, Keeper?” Feyhel asked as he moved to the fire, staring into it.

“I want you to infiltrate a meeting between the shemlan mages and their templars,” she explained, moving to stand beside him with her hand on his shoulder. “Do you think you can do that?” She asked and Feyhel nodded, turning his head to look at the head of the clan.

“It would be an honour. Though, may I ask why?” Feyhel questioned, tilting his head a little in confusion.

“The chaos that followed the collapse of their circles is starting to affect our lifestyle. I want you to find out what they plan to do and then report back.” The Keeper informed him. Feyhel then nodded and looked to the Keeper.

“I will do it,” he stated confidently before going to pack his things.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

His journey took days. Long, gruelling days of sea and horseback travel, neither of which Feyhel liked. Travelling across the Waking Sea churned his stomach and on multiple occasions made his food reappear. As for the horses, they felt too clunky in their paces. Not nearly as smooth as the hart’s or halla. Throughout the journey, he kept his head down. He had to make sure he arrived at the Temple of Sacred Ashes safely.

Upon arrival, Feyhel became increasingly aware that the talks were boring. They contained circular arguments of shouting on both sides. Three days into the talks, everything went south. Feyhel woke to screams of terror echoing throughout the stone walls.

“Wonderful,” he muttered as he sprinted from his room. As he entered, people fled in terror, all running away from the room where the talks had been taking place. “So… Opposite to where everyone’s running?” Feyhel muttered to himself before starting to weave his way through the crowd. People soon thinned out and he managed to find his way toward the conference room. He burst through the doors open and froze at what he saw.

“Don’t just stand there! Get help!” The Divine yelled out. This caught the attention of the monster holding her with some strange magic. “We must not have any witnesses. Slay him.” The creature ordered. However, with this creature distracted, the Divine took her chance and smacked a strange glowing orb in Feyhel’s direction. Finally leaving his trance, the elf reached out and grabbed the ball with his left hand. The next thing he knew, a sharp, burning pain overcame his body. A pain that sent his mind back to his earliest memory, from before he found the Lavellan clan. The burning sensation mirrored the ache that presented itself on his right hand the moment he awoke one morning in his younger days. Seconds later, he’d been flung into a new location. The air felt heavy on his lungs as he slowly moved from his face down position into standing.

“Up here! Hurry!” A female called out. The voice… It sounded familiar but Feyhel didn’t care. All he just needed to get out. He climbed up to the glowing being and widened his eyes. This light guided him out the strange place and then… Darkness.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

A week later, his eyes fluttered open. Where he’d awoken, held a damp smell, both hands ached and throbbed for a reason he couldn’t put his finger on. Further inspection revealed it to be the chains that proved to be too tight around his wrists, digging harshly into his flesh. His knees ached from the hard, cobbled floor beneath him. How long had he been there? All he could remember was leaving the clan and nothing more. However, as he thought back more, something gave off a green light. It caused pain to shoot up his arm for a split second. A pain similar to the last time he woke with no memory and in a dark cell in Tevinter. As his vision came back to him, he looked around slowly. He noted multiple swords pointed in his direction, giving better explanation as to why he was on his knees and chained. “What… the?” Feyhel muttered before gasping as the tip of a sword made contact with his throat.

“Who are you?” An accented voice asked, pushing her blade more severely against his throat. Feyhel gulped, knowing that if she decided to apply more pressure, she would surely draw blood.

“I could ask you the same.” Feyhel hissed as he looked up at the woman.

His words seemed to cause rage to build in her eyes. “I should kill you where you kneel,” she hissed but her sword lowered as a hand placed on her shoulder.

“Be calm, Cassandra. He can’t help if he’s dead.” The new woman spoke. This ‘Cassandra’ just grunted and sheathed her sword.

“He caused all this, Leliana!” Cassandra growled, turning to the other woman. So, he had two names now. That helped.

“We don’t know that!” Leliana argued before turning to walk to the door. “Meet me at the forward camp. Bring the prisoner,” she stated before leaving the room. Cassandra turned her head to look at Feyhel. The look on her face caused the elven mage to gulp slightly.

“When this is over, you will explain everything,” she stated before pulling Feyhel up from the floor and harshly dragging him outside.

Panic began to set in. Feyhel seemed out of his depth. He had no memory of his whereabouts, and this ‘Cassandra’ dragged him around as if he were a ragdoll, her grip indicating she cared little for his comfort. “Where are we going?” Feyhel asked as she cut the rope around his wrists.

“We are going to close the breach,” she coldly said before they started following a path up the mountain. The trip remained uneventful, until a green blast struck the bridge they crossed, sending Feyhel and Cassandra plummeting to the iced river below. The ice stung Feyhel’s side, making the elf hiss as he lifted himself up to his forearms. Cassandra had swiftly gotten up and braced for battle.

“Stay where you are!” She called before rushing forward. Feyhel’s eyes turned to the direction that she ran towards, and widened his eyes as two shades appeared in front of them.

Gulping, Feyhel searched his surroundings frantically for anything that could protect him. He spotted a staff close to him and hastily grabbed it. He spun around and widened his eyes at how close a shade had gotten. He knew it wasn’t his normal staff, but he had to make do. Channelling his magic through the staff, he began his attack. It didn’t take long before the shades disintegrated. Panting heavily, he walked over to Cassandra.

“Are you alright?” He asked, only to have a sword pointed toward him. “What are you doing?” He asked as he swiftly jumped back.

“You will drop your staff. Now.” Cassandra ordered. Feyhel just rolled his eyes and set the staff on his back.

“I don’t think so. I could have died without this. Besides, do you see me using my magic on you?” He asked as he walked past her.

“Ugh.” Cassandra grunted before following behind, appearing to accept that Feyhel, did in fact, need the staff to protect himself.

“Alright, you need the staff, I cannot deny that,” she said as they continued on toward the forward camp.

“Over there! You can hear the fighting!” Cassandra called as they climbed a hill.

“Then let’s lend a hand!” Feyhel called out, the mark on his right hand fizzing to life. Cassandra’s eyes widened, watching Feyhel’s hand closely. “Oh, this? It’s nothing.” Feyhel stated, shrugging slightly before smirking and running forward. Jumping from the ledge, the elf landed with his palm hitting the floor. The action sent shockwaves of fire out toward the demons, taking most of them out in one smooth motion.

“Now that’s helpful.” A dwarf spoke as he sent a crossbow bolt through a shade’s head. Another elf froze the final shade and walked over.

“You must close this! Before we’re swarmed again!” He stated, reaching for Feyhel’s left hand.

“Hey! What do you—?” He was cut off by the rift in front of them closing, not to mention the painful tingling sensation that had been sent down his arm from the action of closing the tear. The bald elf removed his hand and looked between Feyhel and where the rift was thoughtfully.

It took a few seconds for Feyhel to realise that, somehow, he closed the rift. Though not him specifically, whatever was on his left hand had played a big part.

“Quite the entrance.” The dwarf spoke as he walked over to Feyhel.

“I… Yes? Thank you?” Feyhel asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. This just made the dwarf chuckle.

“Call me Varric and, of course, Bianca here,” he introduced, pointing to the crossbow on his back. Amusement replaced Feyhel’s confusion as he looked to the crossbow.

“She’s impressive,” he hummed as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“She is, isn’t she? Bianca and I have been through many troubles together,” Varric stated as he looked over at Cassandra who just rolled her eyes with a disapproving look on her face.

“I suppose I should introduce myself too, I am Solas,” the other elf explained as he re-joined the group. Feyhel gave a nod.

“It is because of Solas that your mark did not kill you,” Cassandra explained as she looked over the bodies around them.

“I… well, thank you.” Feyhel muttered as he rubbed the back of his neck a little. Above them, the breach gave another burst of energy. “Okay, we should get moving.” Feyhel muttered as he continued along the path.

“This is going to be fun.” Varric said with a chuckle as he jogged to catch up, closely followed by Cassandra and Solas.

Glancing behind him, Feyhel sighed quietly. How did he get himself into this?

“So what does a Dalish mage have to do with the events of the conclave?” Solas asked as they walked through the snow. Feyhel just rolled his eyes a little before looking at the elf who had spoken to him.

“The Keeper wanted me to gather as much information as I could about the war going on between the mages and the templars. We’ve lost a lot of territory due to their fighting,” Feyhel explained as they walked. Solas just gave a hum as he took in the information. As he walked, Feyhel glanced at the sky with a frown.

“You know, most Dalish I’ve come across don’t like having much interaction with humans.” Solas spoke up again. A groan pushed to leave Feyhel but he kept it back.

“Yeah? Well each clan is different, can we change the subject?” Feyhel snapped as he pushed forward. He didn’t like too many questions, especially with the large gaps in his memory. He didn’t know why his clan spent time with humans. He only knew he’d joined them when he was twenty years old. Way past the age where he was meant to get a vallaslin. Beyond that, he remembered very little.

“Where are you from, kid?” Varric asked, changing the subject. Though it wasn’t a more comfortable one.

“I… The Free Marches,” he stated, pushing back the fear that built within him.

“Yes, you have a slight accent there but… there’s another accent. A stronger one. Where’s it from?” Varric pushed. Feyhel gave a gulp and opened his mouth to reply, a reply that ended up being cut short by Cassandra shouting about a rift up ahead of them. Solas shouted something about sealing it, the shout being muffled by Feyhel’s racing thoughts. He snapped back from his thoughts when a shade’s demonic claw caught his upper arm, tearing not only fabric but skin as well.

“Damn it,” he hissed and instantly sent a fireball at the demon. At that moment, Feyhel lifted his right hand and started building a white hot fire inside the shade. In one smooth motion, much like slamming a door, Feyhel pulled his right hand back toward his body and caused the shade to explode into hot flame. The flames became large enough to hit the wraiths floating toward him as well. The action had caught Solas’ attention and he watched Feyhel curiously. As soon as the demons disintegrated, Feyhel closed the rift to prevent more from following.

As soon as the rift dissipated, the doors opened for the group. They didn’t hesitate, promptly jogging towards Leliana who argued with someone dressed in Chantry robes.

“There’s the murderer! Restrain him!” He ordered, looking at Cassandra expectantly. She just rolled her eyes as she spat an insult at the ‘Chancellor’. Slowly, Feyhel tuned out of the argument that followed as his eyes landed on the breach. It looked much closer and much larger now, the green magic being spat out more obvious than before. He didn’t know how much of the conversation he missed but he returned from his thoughts when Varric gave him a gentle nudge and a slight motion toward Cassandra.

“So? Shall we take the mountain pass or the valley?” Leliana asked with a raised eyebrow. How much had he missed?

Feyhel furrowed his eyebrows slowly. “Why in the creators names are you asking me?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “About five minutes ago you wanted me restrained for a murder that I may or may not have committed!” He argued, puffing out his chest a little in annoyance and panic. This decision, he guessed that there would be a consequence to both options presented to him.

“You are the one who can close the rifts.” Cassandra explained, Solas nodding in agreement. Feyhel let out a short breath, chewing at his lower lip for a small moment before turning his gaze back to the breach.

“Valley path,” he finally said. “Purely because it’s quicker and I’m sure you all want to chop my head off as soon as possible. Or… hang me. Whatever you Shem’s like to do with your prisoners,” he muttered as he walked past everyone to leave the bridge.

As he walked, he heard the Chancellor shout something but he simply ignored it. He doubted that would be the last of the man. Cassandra, Varric and Solas followed behind him. Leliana had gone to the mountain path to collect her men.

“Hey, you made a good call.” Varric assured Feyhel as they walked.

“I sure hope so... “ Feyhel muttered quietly as he looked at the snow under his feet. The rest of the walk fell into an uncomfortable silence. As they reached the top of a set of stairs, another rift came into view and not a moment too soon. Feyhel had begun to grow extremely tired of those rifts in such a short space of time. He couldn’t wait to close the breach, especially if it got rid of them.

“It must be sealed before we can pass!” Solas called out, Feyhel just looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“You know, I think we’ll just leave it open. It’ll be fine,” he said sarcastically, flexing the fingers on his right hand. This made Cassandra and Varric chuckle as Feyhel rushed forward and used the ledge as leverage. He angled himself so he could land with his palm on the ground again, the same heat shockwave pulsing out toward the Terrors. The demons became weakened by his attack, leaving Solas and Varric open to finish them off.

Feyhel had a different demeanour on the battlefield. Outside of battle, he spent most of the time quiet and closed off from others but this drastically changed when he began fighting. The adrenaline boosted his confidence. As more waves of demons spilled from the rift, his mana pooled into the mark on his right hand to build its power. Soon enough, he sent out a blast toward the demons, sending fire flying into the air. As soon as they fell, he got to work on closing the rift.

“There. Done,” he panted as he rest his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Don’t do that move too much, it looks overly exhausting.” Varric hummed as he patted the elf’s back.

“Yeah, that will be a plan B,” Feyhel muttered as he stood up straight once again. “I’m going to learn how to close them faster, however,” he added as he looked to his left hand.

“You are doing a good job so far,” Solas commented as he walked over to Feyhel and Varric. Feyhel gave a nod of thanks before looking at Cassandra who spoke to a blond male.

“Commander, this is the prisoner. He’s the one able to close the rifts,” Cassandra explained as she walked over, the Commander close behind her. Feyhel gulped a little as he went to take a step back but this ended up being prevented by Varric.

“So you’re the one we’re counting on?” The blonde asked, sheathing his sword on his belt. Feyhel just nodded slowly, still a little intimidated by him.

“I will do my best.” Feyhel said quietly, nervously clearing his throat. This just earned him a nod from the warrior in front of him.

“Then that’s all we ask of you,” he stated before walking away to help a group of injured soldiers.

“Come on, we’re close,” Cassandra said softly, motioning to a ledge a few steps from where they’d stood.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

As they walked through what remained of the temple, Feyhel’s heart ached. So many lost lives. So many people who didn’t need to die. The explosion had given way to so much chaos and, as a result, put him at the centre. He just wish he knew how that had happened.

“So, what? I open it, we fight anything that comes out and then close it?” Feyhel asked as they approached the rift.

“That should work, yes.” Solas agreed. Feyhel just sighed and rubbed his forehead a little. He wanted to go home. Above them, a hauntingly familiar echoed, sending shivers down the elf’s spine. Time seemed to halt as his breath caught in his throat, his eyes fixing on the pulsating rift in front of them.

“That’s the divine!” Cassandra called out as they approached the rift. Another voice soon echoed, confusing them all.

“You will bring us to a new age.” A throaty voice spoke up. Feyhel’s seemingly refused to move further. Something about that voice sent terror through his body. Terror and anger.

“It seems this rift is bleeding events from the past. The owner of that second voice may be who you are looking for,” Solas explained as he looked around, the tension between the group so heavy it felt suffocating. Finally, a third voice. Feyhel’s. It revealed he’d stepped in to help the divine. Whatever happened, Feyhel had interrupted and set of a chain of events. Did this mean he caused the explosion? His voice being present caused a lump to form in his throat, a sickening lump that made Feyhel want to vomit. Would this mean fears would be confirmed once it got out?

“So you were at the centre of this! Who is that second voice?” Cassandra demanded, making Feyhel glare at her. That didn’t help his internal argument. He felt too conflicted to deal with more accusations.

“I told you! I don’t remember anything! This is as shocking to me as it is to you, so back off!” He growled, watching as the Seeker did, indeed, back away from him.

Shaking his head, he did as asked. He opened the rift from it’s dormant state. What sprung forth proved itself to be bigger than anything Feyhel had seen in his life. Or, in what little of his life that he could remember. A pride demon, sparking with electricity as it surveyed the area. This sent chills down Feyhel’s spine. The eyes unnerved him,

“This… is going to be fun,” Feyhel muttered sarcastically. It took a while, there a constant repetition of disrupting the rift to forcefully rip away the barrier the demon kept bringing up to defend itself. The shades that bled through the rift simply caused more issues for the group, distracting them from the Pride Demon. The fight enabled Feyhel to calm his mind and focus on anything but his voice echoing out of the rift above, almost as if defeating the demons would wipe slate clean. However, exhaustion began to set in quickly and Feyhel just wished for the demon to finally fall. His wish came true after an energy barrage from Solas. The demon collapsed to its knees, worn down enough for Feyhel to close the rift. The effect ricocheted back up toward the breach and with a loud explosion, it closed.

Feyhel stumbled a little, fighting to keep his eyes open but he soon stumbled back and collapsed. Cassandra became the last face he saw before he lost consciousness, his entire body numb from exhaustion and thankful for the small respite he would be able to get.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Days later, Feyhel blinked his eyes open slowly. He stared at a mottled wooden ceiling, walls and a plush mattress at his back. Where had he awoken? Carefully, he looked around the room before sitting up, he could see a desk with writing equipment in the corner of the room with a feather quill and ink. He stared at the items, pondering the reason as to why the set up seemed recently used. The silence broke when he heard a gasp and something hit the floor.

“Please forgive me! I thought you were still resting,” A female elf stammered, stumbling over her words in panic.

“It’s okay, calm down,” Feyhel said gently as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed to sit properly.

“You should go to the chantry. Cassandra wishes to speak with you.” As soon as she finished speaking, she ran out the door. The interaction caused Feyhel to raise his eyebrow.

“Right... “ he muttered, slowly standing up.

A grunt left him as he stretched. His muscles and joints felt stiff from laying down for so long. To his left, he saw a small chest. The contents included a simple set of armour with gauntlets and boots to match. The elf wrinkled his nose at the boots but pulled the rest on. He looked at the boots a little longer before rolling his eyes and pulling them on. He didn’t know whether he should have been questioning how the armour fit him perfectly but he didn’t complain, he simply felt thankful it did. “Okay, to the chantry then,” he muttered to himself.

As soon as he opened the door to the small cabin, he had an overwhelming urge to slam it closed again. The past few days came rushing back to his mind. The rifts, his left hand, the people he’d met. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and gave a shaky breath as he watched the people who lined the street, jumping and clambering to see him. He closed his eyes and collected his thoughts for a second before opening his eyes and looking at the sky. At least it didn’t look as angry as before. That comforted him. As he began to walk away from the house he woke up in, he picked up on some of the whispers in the crowd.

“Look! There he is!” Came one voice. Another whispered about how he had been the one to stop the breach from getting bigger. Feyhel gulped and quickened his pace some more.

He didn’t like crowds. He didn’t like the attention either. Soon enough, the chantry came into view. He had to resist the urge to sprint for the door, but once inside, he closed it quickly. Memories began to flash into his mind - memories of him and another elf. A pained noise left him as he cradled his head a little, closing his eyes tightly until the ringing in his ears stopped. Old memories seemed to be returning to him faster and more frequently. Slowly, he took a breath and began walking toward the door directly down the hall from him.

Behind the door, he could hear an argument between Cassandra and someone who sounded like the Chancellor. At least Cassandra had started to argue his side and not the Chancellor’s. That put his mind at ease, remembering his own voice echoing from the rift. Not wanting to hear anymore, Feyhel swung the door open. He had to contain the smirk that threatened to play on his lips from the Chancellor’s reaction.

“You, guard! Chain him and ready him for execution!” The Chancellor ordered, an order that became overruled by Cassandra asking them to leave. The look on the Chancellor’s face amused Feyhel and caused him to stifle a laugh.

“I take it that I’m still a suspect?” Feyhel questioned with a raised eyebrow. Cassandra then sighed and nodded.

“You are but considerably less so than when this all started,” the Seeker explained before looking at the Chancellor. “We have to consider that there may be others,” she added, watching as Roderick’s face paled.

“You mean to say you suspect me?” he questioned just as Leliana walked over.

“It is not only you that we suspect. We know someone caused that explosion, we just have to explore all our options,” Leliana explained, crossing her arms over her chest slowly.

“So… There could be allies or followers of whoever caused this?” Feyhel asked, trying to piece together what Leliana suggested.

“Yes,” she affirmed before watching as Cassandra picked up a book.

Following that, Feyhel tuned the argument out. It had become circular and his mind had begun to focus on the elf that had flashed in his memories. Who was he? Staring at his right hand, Feyhel frowned slightly. From what he could recall, it had been ten years since that mark appeared on his hand. Ten years since he woke up chained in a basement in Tevinter with a man standing over him, promising he would do great things. That he would bring an empire back from the grave.

“Herald?” Leliana’s voice spoke up, breaking his thoughts. When he looked up, both women’s eyes had fixed on him. Herald. A human term for their saviour. Feyhel’s nose wrinkled at the name. He refused to be given a name that depicted a figure he had no belief in. Though he didn’t dare contest this, fearing he’d be locked up the second he went against it.

“Will you join us?” Cassandra asked, motioning to the book in front of them.

“Why do I feel like I don’t have a choice here?” he joked, laughing quietly as he shook his head. “Seriously though, aren’t you starting a holy war?” Feyhel asked as he leant against the table.

“Without chantry support, we’re on our own. We need a way of stopping the breach and you’re our only hope of doing that.” Leliana explained as Cassandra nodded.

“Well, I’ll do all I can then.” Feyhel confirmed with a smile, holding out his right hand. In a swift movement, Cassandra gripped his forearm and he did the same to her. What had he gotten himself into? His mind screamed at him for agreeing to joining this Inquisition. He didn’t belong there, he didn’t fit in. He belonged with his clan in the Free Marches! The responsibility quickly began to weigh heavy on his shoulders but he couldn’t turn back now. He agreed to it and he fully intended on seeing it through, despite his own reservations about the people and himself. If he wanted his clan to be safe, he had to do this. For them.

In that motion, the Inquisition had been formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to JenniferHawke for beta reading this chapter!


	2. The Hinterlands

“So, what’s our first step?” Feyhel asked as he followed Cassandra into the war room. Once inside, he was greeted by the people who were to be his advisors. Leliana, the Commander from before, and an Ambassador. Cassandra introduced them as Cullen and Josephine. 

“Well, it’s certainly an honour,” Feyhel breathed as he looked around the room. ‘So many titles,’ he thought to himself, biting his lip nervously. 

“We’ve been informed of a Chantry mother who wishes to speak with you at a place called the Crossroads in the Hinterlands,” Leliana explained, pointing to the place on the map. Feyhel just raised an eyebrow as he looked at the Spymaster. 

“You said only an hour ago the Chantry will not help us. Why is she reaching out?” he asked, only to be met with a shrug from the Nightingale. That just caused Feyhel to sigh. “Alright, let’s go then,” he muttered as he nodded to Cassandra. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

The trek turned out to be a long one, especially without mounts. Blisters had formed on Feyhel’s feet due to him not being accustomed to the boots, causing each step to be agonising. He hated walking and he hated it more with the leather boots preventing his full range of movement. 

“I suggest we speak with horsemaster, Dennet,” Cassandra advised as they reached the Inquisition camp. 

“Might be a good idea. My feet are aching and my blisters have blisters,” Feyhel grumbled as he glared at his boots. He had already planned, more than once, to wander back to the Free Marches or to burn the boots in the campfire. He wasn’t cut out for this, but most of all, he wasn’t cut out for shoes. They felt too clunky as he walked and they made his feet feel too enclosed and sweaty. 

“Don’t worry, kid. You’ll get used to them,” Varric assured with a chuckle, watching as Feyhel stumbled clumsily over his own feet as they descended the hill. 

“I feel like I’m slower than normal,” he grumbled with a huff before a shout echoed around them, pulling his thoughts away from the pain that had distracted him. 

“Quick! The refugees!” Solas shouted as the group sprinted for the crossroads. When they rounded the corner, the chaos and destruction became clear. Feyhel’s eyes glanced over the roads and his heart ached for the refugees. The chaos had destroyed their homes, their livelihood. It sickened him that the mages and templars didn’t seem to care. His jaw clenched in anger, his hands balling up into fists. He despised both sides. From what he could remember, a mage had inflicted great pain upon him. The mage always appeared as an elderly man with a wirey grey beard who frequently taunted, prodded and poked at him and his flesh whilst he was strung up in chains tight enough to rub into his flesh. His hand still bore the results of that horrific experience and his mind had been left just as scarred with dreams that plagued him nearly every night. That kind of blinding, scorching pain wasn’t easily forgiven. It served as a reminder to Feyhel that mages, as well as humans, could be cruel and unforgiving. 

“Feyhel!” Cassandra yelled as an arrow flew past Feyhel’s face. It didn’t touch him, but the gust that came from it proved enough to bring him back from his thoughts and his anger. A grunt left him as he pulled his staff from his back and joined the fray. The arrow had come from a templar archer; Feyhel could feel the pull of the lyrium the solder undoubtedly carried. He used the pull of the lyrium to help focus his attacks. Solas seemed to be doing the same while Varric and Cassandra dealt with the two defenders that approached from behind.

“Apostates!” Solas warned as a group of sellswords and an enchanter. The sellswords seemed easy to pick off, especially when Solas and Feyhel began combining their attacks and swinging their staffs in unison to boost the damage. A technique that proved effective when the enchanter collapsed in a heap. 

“Can we rest now?” Feyhel asked as he leant against his staff. His eyes spotted another group of Templar’s heading for them and a groan left his lips. “Apparently not,” he grumbled, standing himself up again. Feyhel set an immolate ring in the path of three templar archers, watching carefully before igniting the flames when they passed over it. With the group weakened, Cassandra moved in and finished the archers off. From behind, a defender and another archer approached silently. Their presence only became known when an arrow hit Feyhel in the shoulder. 

“Behind us!” Feyhel shouted, spinning in place and sending a fireball at the archer. The elf watched as the defender charged at Cassandra before she had time to react. Solas had seen too and froze the warrior after he’d forced Cassandra to the floor with his shield. Once more, Feyhel used immolate to finish off the defender, ending the waves of attackers. 

A hiss left Feyhel as he gripped the arrow sticking from his shoulder. He gave a test pull at the arrow and nearly yelped in pain. It had definitely pierced the skin and not just his armour. He debated on whether it would be worth leaving the arrow in his shoulder until they reached a camp, or if he should pull it from his body there and then. He tested his range of movement and finally decided it needed to be removed. Though, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it himself.

“Varric, could I ask a favour please?” Feyhel asked as he approached Varric, who had started collecting any crossbow bolt that he deemed reusable. 

“What do you need?” Varric asked as he looked up at the elf. Feyhel motioned toward the arrow in his shoulder, winching when he did. “Alright, kid. Kneel down,” the dwarf said gently. Feyhel compiled hesitantly, not looking forward to the pain of having the arrow removed. He heard Varric counting down from three before the harsh tug and excruciating pain of the arrow leaving his flesh. Feyhel hunched over, his eyes closed tight as he tried to push himself through the pain. 

When he felt he could move again, he reached for a potion from his belt and quickly swallowed down the contents. The pain numbed minutes after the liquid passed his lips, allowing for a relieved breath from Feyhel. The potion numbed the pain in his feet too.

“Mother Giselle is over there.” Cassandra informed Feyhel as she walked over. Feyhel gave a nod of thanks as he slowly stood himself up again. He stumbled a little but soon found his footing and made his way to the Chantry Mother wishing to speak with him. 

He ascended a set of stairs and soon frowned when he saw the number of injured men and women, some children too. It made his heart drop. The situation appeared worse than he originally anticipated. ‘Perhaps this information would be of value to Keeper Deshanna’ he thought, eyes still taking in the chaos. Feyhel may be helping the Inquisition but as the Keeper’s first, he held a sacred duty to his clan and to his Keeper to report back any information he found. However, he had more important things to think about. His naturally yellow eyes, tainted red from the crushed fire crystals and lyrium dust infused into the mark on his hand seeping into his body and bloodstream, looked around the makeshift infirmary before landing on an elderly looking woman tending to one of the injured. 

“Mother Giselle?” He asked after approaching her. The mother stood slowly and turned around to face him with grace. 

“I am.” She spoke softly. Her voice held an unknown accent to Feyhel but it interested him. Why would a Chantry Mother want to talk with him so soon after the disownment from the Chantry? 

“Forgive me, Mother, but why would you wish to speak with me after the Chantry has declared it won’t support us?” Feyhel questioned, determined to get an answer before hearing what she had to say. 

“There is unrest in Val Royaux. Clerics are scrambling for answers. If you were to go the capital, you could sway the clerics to your side,” she explained. This only amplified Feyhel’s confusion. The information given to him conflicted what he’d originally been told. 

“So, what? Wave the mark on my hand about in order to coax them like flies?” he asked, raising an eyebrow slowly. Now he had to travel to Val Royaux? A city. A main city, to be exact. Definitely not what he wanted to hear. “That couldn’t be more of a bad idea,” he grumbled under his breath. 

“Why? Because of your magical abilities?” Giselle questioned, crossing her arms over her chest. It wasn’t just his magic that worried Feyhel. For years, he had avoided large cities because of his situation. He knew people were hunting him from past attacks on his clan. Slavers who bore the mark of the old man who chained him in his younger days. Thankfully the Keeper knew how to keep him hidden from those hunters. 

“That too.” Feyhel grumbled with a huff but he knew, deep down, that the city of Val Royaux would be the best logical place to travel to. First, however, they needed mounts. Feyhel refused to walk anywhere after the trip to the Hinterlands. He bid her farewell and rejoined Varric, Solas and Cassandra to fill them in on what had been talked about. 

“Mother Giselle?” He asked after approaching her. The mother stood slowly and turned around to face him with grace.

“I am,” she spoke softly. Her voice held an unknown accent to Feyhel, but it interested him. Why would a Chantry Mother want to talk with him so soon after the disownment from the Chantry? The elf listened closely to what the Chantry mother had to say, learning that he needed to visit Orlais’ capital Val Royeaux to gain an opinion sway toward the Inquisition. He was hesitant to go to a main city; it would be open, and his panic rapidly bubbled in his stomach as multiple images of situations that could come to pass ran through his mind like a rabbit escaping the clan’s hunters.

There was also the knowledge that his abilities would cause more issues than the Inquisition would need, but it wasn’t just his magic. Being with the Dalish had left a certain fear imprinted in his mind to avoid any large city. Even before his clan, he made a personal point to avoid large cities because of the men hunting him. The men with slaver uniforms and brands linked to the man who chained him when he was younger. Men the Keeper always protected him from.

Despite all this, he knew Val Royeaux was the best and most logical place to travel to. Though, not without mounts. Feyhel refused to go anywhere without mounts. When his conversation was over, he bid his goodbye to Mother Giselle and rejoined the group to fill them in on what they were to do next. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

They explored the Crossroads a little longer, collecting some herbs for potions and cooking. The looks Feyhel received amused the elf when he tasted the leaves of elfroot, spindleweed and blood lotus. He had to explain to Cassandra that tasting the ingredients helped to determine the freshness. The warrior had listened intently to what the elf had to say, as did Solas. 

The companions soon finished helping the refugees, something Feyhel felt thankful for. The sun had begun to set, causing the sky to be tinted with oranges and reds. Feyhel sighed quietly as he looked at the colours. His mind wandered to his clan, hoping they were safe. 

“I’ve been told about Corporal Vale, the man commanding the soldiers in this area. I believe we should talk to him about Horsemaster Dennet,” Cassandra suggested as they left the Crossroads. Feyhel nodded in agreement, knowing fully that he had no idea who or where this Dennet lived. 

“Yes, but first I’d like to make camp. I’m exhausted.” Feyhel grumbled, he just wished to sit down. Thankfully, Varric agreed with his request. As did Solas. They found a camp near Lake Luthias with Feyhel taking the tent furthest from the rest of the camp. He always liked being separated from large groups. 

Once the fire had been made, they all settled around it. Feyhel offered to make their food - boiled ram’s meat accompanied with a few potatoes seasoned with elfroot. A simple dish to make. 

“I see you’ve removed those boots,” Varric teased as he sat beside Feyhel. A chuckle left the elf as he placed the potatoes into the pot alongside the meat. 

“The made me feel slower than normal and they’ve blistered my feet,” the elf explained while sitting back against the log he’d perched on. 

“No one was making you wear them, may I suggest you dispose of them before we leave?” Solas chipped in as he leant against a tree. Feyhel just glared at the other elf.

“I’m already viewed as a savage Dalish. I don’t want to do anything that furthers that opinion,” he grumbled, his tone half serious, half teasing. Solas simply remained silent before turning his head to look at the faint glow of the closed breach.

The food cooked slowly, no one speaking until Feyhel dished the broth up. He gave two bowls to the scouts that accompanied them in the camp as well, not wishing for them to go hungry either. 

“So, you never told us where you came from,” Varric spoke up, breaking the silence between the four. Feyhel gulped slowly, hesitant to answer the question. However, everyone now had their eyes on him and expecting his answer. With a sigh, Feyhel set his bowl down and bit his lip a little. 

“Tevinter,” he spoke after a long, silent pause. He didn’t want to think of Tevinter. The only memories he had of Tevinter consisted of pain and fear for his own life. Even after escaping, he was still plagued by the memories of the man who had been the cause of his suffering, as if his chains were still present, keeping him chained to his past. “Then the Free Marches with the Lavellan clan,” he finished as he picked his bowl back up to keep his hands busy. 

“Care to elaborate on that?” Cassandra asked, her tone stern as she looked at Feyhel. The elf looked up at the woman and he shook his head.

“I’d rather not,” Feyhel muttered, sipping at the water from the broth. “Sorry,” he added before standing up and leaving the group.

A few hours later, everyone had retired to their tents, leaving only Feyhel awake and staring into the fire. He rarely received full nights sleep, especially with the nightmares of pain from experiments and steel tipped whips that constantly plagued him and waking him in a cold sweat every time they came to his mind. 

“I have a letter for you from Leliana, Ser,” the requisition officer spoke, handing Feyhel a rolled note. Carefully taking the parchment, the elf read over what was written on it. The elegant cursive explained that a Warden was nearby and that Leliana had been investigating their disappearance following the explosion of the Chantry, the letter being finalised with a request that Feyhel look into the lone Warden who went by the name of Blackwall. 

“Warden Blackwall… interesting,” he muttered before rolling the letter from Leliana up and putting it in his satchel. Now he had something else to do, other than finding the mounts. 

“Still sitting out here, kid?” Varric asked as he left his tent, having been awoken from the conversation between Feyhel and the requisition officer. Feyhel turned his head to look at the dwarf and nodded with a small smile playing on his lips. 

“I can’t sleep,” he admitted as he turned his gaze back to the fire. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve had these nightmares. Flashes of… a city. This large, beautiful city with markets that go on for miles,” he explained, still staring into the fire as if the scene he was describing existed within the flames. “The dreams never stay pleasant however. There’s this other elf I sometimes see,” he finished as he glanced to Varric again. 

“I’m all ears if you wish to talk,” Varric assured, taking a seat beside Feyhel on the log. It took the elf a few seconds but he soon nodded. 

“Some nights, I have this images of a large mansion. I don’t see much though, just small rooms with rattling chains echoing around. I’m never alone in these dreams… there’s always another elf with shining green eyes and hair as white as snow,” Feyhel explained as he turned his gaze to the sky. “Though he doesn’t have a Valaslin. So I don’t think he’s Dalish. I could draw him, if you have some paper?” Feyhel suggested, smiling as Varric collected what he’d asked for. It took him awhile, but Feyhel soon finished the sketch and he turned the paper to show Varric.

“Andraste’s ass… that looks like Fenris!” Varric exclaimed, leaning closer to get a better look at the drawing Feyhel had shown him. 

“Who?” Feyhel asked as he stared at the sketch in Varric’s hands. It seemed he now had a name for a face. 

“Someone I knew in Kirkwall. He was one of mine and Hawke’s friends,” Varric told him as he handed the parchment back to Feyhel. The elf frowned a little and looked at the page more. “Anyway, we should head to bed. We do have to be up early and you know what Cassandra can be like,” he teased, standing from the log before going to the tent. Feyhel chuckled softly, silently agreeing to what Varric said. 

Feyhel managed to get a peaceful night’s sleep. He ended up only having a few hours before Cassandra burst into the shared tent. 

“Both of you, up now,” she ordered, tugging the covers away from them roughly. Feyhel only groaned in protest, rolling himself out of the cot and into a heap on the floor. He heard Cassandra grunt and leave to likely wake Solas. 

“You heard the Seeker, let’s get recruiting,” Varric chuckled as he pulled on his shirt. Feyhel huffed but complied, pushing himself away from the ground to get his armour on. This time, he left the boots by his bed. 

“Before we leave, we’re not going straight to Corporal Vale,” Feyhel stated as he fastened the gauntlets to his armour. “I received a letter from Leliana last night telling me about a Grey Warden in the area,” the elf explained as he showed the group the letter he’d received. They all agreed to speak with the Warden mentioned on the letter and swiftly set off for Lake Luthias. 

“Kid, before we leave,” Varric requested, holding Feyhel’s wrist to stop him from walking and to put some distance between them and the others. “That other mark on your hand… what is it? How did you get it?” he queried, his eyes fixing on Feyhel’s right hand. The elf gulped a little and shuffled slightly. Did he want to answer that question? The answer would likely be found out later.

“I’ve… had this for as long as I can remember. These markings, this power. It’s been part of me for so long but that’s all I’m able to tell you. I knew very little about who I was before meeting my clan, and now? I seem to know even less… like all the work the Keeper did with me has been reversed,” Feyhel explained, clenching his jaw as the pain in his head returned. It always happened when he tried to remember his life. “Sometimes, I think my name isn’t even Feyhel…” He whispered sadly, closing his eyes tightly. Varric simply listened. He said nothing, did nothing other than lightly squeeze his forearm in a comforting manor. 

“Let’s catch up with the others. They’ve likely found the guy we’re looking for by now,” Varric spoke gently, releasing Feyhel’s arm. Feyhel just nodded and began to head to the path toward the lake. They soon caught up with Cassandra and Solas who had been waiting in a clearing for them. 

“Over there,” Cassandra whispered, pointing to a small wooden hut on the other side of the lake. Feyhel followed the direction of her finger and nodded when he saw four men. Three looked like simple farmers and another was in full armour.

“You think that’s our man?” Feyhel asked as he glanced at Cassandra. She nodded to him and looked over at him. “Well, let’s go and say hi,” Feyhel hummed as he stood up and headed for the bridge across the lake. 

“Bandits!” A loud shout came from across the lake. Feyhel widened his eyes as he began sprinting for the farmers and the Warden. He sprinted for them, ignoring Cassandra’s shouts of protest. Varric and Solas followed behind him, leaving the warrior no choice. The sound of steel clashing against one another filled Feyhel’s ears as he pulled his staff from his back. He set an immolate run under two of the bandits, blasting them with fire as soon as the stepped on it. The last of the bandits were taken care of by the Warden. 

“You must be Warden Blackwall,” Feyhel panted as he walked over to the dark haired male. He could have laughed at the look of fear and confusion that crossed to the man’s face. 

“How is it that you know my name?” Blackwall questioned as he cleaned his blade on the grass. Feyhel’s eyes watched the crimson blood transfer to the grass, thinking carefully about his answer. 

“I’m with the Inquisition. I’ve been tasked with looking into the disappearance of many Wardens. These are my… friends: Cassandra, Varric and Solas.” He explained. The word ‘friend’ was alien on his tongue. He hadn’t said that in a long time, not even in the clan. He barely saw any of his clan members as friends. Just people he spent his days with. 

“You are here because you believe the Wardens had something to do with this chaos?” Blackwall accused, stepping into Feyhel’s personal space. The elf gulped a little, the man was certainly intimidating and it terrified him. 

“No, I don’t, but I need to start somewhere, right? There are a lot of options that need to be covered, from the Wardens to the templars and mages,” Feyhel explained but he soon sighed, realising the conversation was approaching its end. “Though, if you can’t offer any help, I guess we are done here,” the elf stated as he turned to leave. 

“Hold, a moment.” Blackwall called out, making Feyhel smirk a little “I don’t know what happened to the Wardens but… I will join up. Perhaps I can be of use.” Blackwall offered, sheathing his sword in his belt. 

“Welcome aboard, Warden Blackwall. Report to Haven and speak with Josephine. She will go through everything.” Feyhel explained, smiling as Blackwall nodded and went into the hut to collect his things. 

“So, Corporal Vale?” Feyhel muttered as they walked back to the camp. He pulled out his map and glanced over the area slowly. He had suspected the size of the Hinterlands to be large but seeing it on the map gave a true sense of the area.

“He should be here,” Cassandra explained, pointing to a small area below their campsite on the map where they would find the man they were looking for. Feyhel nodded and folded the map away once more. 

Following the path, Feyhel lost himself in his thoughts once more. Apparently walking did that to him a lot when there was big gaps of silence between him and his companions. He kept thinking about the other elf he’d seen in his dreams. This… Fenris. 

“Watch out, kid,” Varric’s voice broke his thoughts, then his foot catching on an exposed root and his face contacting with the floor. A groan left the elf as he landed on his stomach, feeling as though the air had been knocked completely from him. “You okay?” Varric asked as he carefully helped the elf up. 

“Yeah just… give me a moment. Creators, that hurt,” he groaned as he set his hand on his stomach. A shaky breath left him as he leant against a rock for a second. “Let me catch my breath and we’ll continue on.” He muttered, rolling his head back as he continued to breath slowly. Solas and Cassandra watched with worried expressions. Feyhel soon regained his breath and nodded to his companions as he pushed himself off the rock. 

They walked for another ten minutes before they found Corporal Vale. Feyhel had gained a small limp from his trip, something that slowed him considerably. 

“You hurt your ankle?” Solas asked as he walked alongside Feyhel. The concern shined in his eyes as he watched Feyhel walk. 

“I’m fine, it should heal up soon. I’ve had worse,” Feyhel muttered with a chuckle before turning to look at Cassandra. “Will you talk with the Corporal? I need to rest for a moment,” Feyhel requested. Cassandra nodded before turning and leaving the group. Once she was gone, Feyhel found a rock to sit down on. 

“Do you want me to bind it?” Solas asked as he knelt in front of Feyhel, carefully lifting the slowly swelling foot. Feyhel hissed at the movement but nodded as he watched Solas carefully. The elf nodded in return and took some bandages from his pack. “You should be more careful.” Solas stated as began wrapping the cotton wrap around Feyhel’s ankle. With each wrap around, the bandage tightened, sending more pain up Feyhel’s leg. “Done. It should be easier for you to walk now,” Solas told him before standing and making his way over to Cassandra. 

“We could go on ahead to the horsemaster, if you want?” Varric suggested as he sat himself beside Feyhel. The elf just smiled a little and shook his head. 

“No, I don’t intend on staying behind. I set out with you all to do this. Once I’m on a horse, I should be fine,” Feyhel explained as he slowly stood up. When he had, Cassandra and Solas returned. 

“Redcliffe Farms. That’s where we’ll find him,” Cassandra stated as she rejoined the group. Feyhel nodded and handed her the map where she circled the farms on the map. “We should be able to set camp there too,” she added, marking the map for the camp as well. Feyhel watched intently, burning the locations to memory and which roads to take.

“So, we follow the King’s Road to the farm?” Feyhel asked as Cassandra folded away the map. 

“Indeed, though it is not the safest, it is the quickest,” she explained as she glanced around. “Will you be okay to walk?” She asked before looking at Feyhel’s ankle.

“I should be, yes, thank you, Cassandra,” he said with a gentle smile before they began walking toward the Kings Road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JenniferHawke, thank you again for beta reading!


	3. Return to Haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another big thank you to JenniferHawke for beta reading! 
> 
> ^ Going to put this at the start from now on. I feel like it's better.

The companions spent most of the walk to the farms silent, with Feyhel stopping occasionally to pick various herbs and metals along the way. While passing through the King’s Road, they kept down and avoided the conflict as much as they could. Cassandra thought it would be the best method to ensure Feyhel didn’t hurt his ankle further until they reached the next camp. 

“Just over this bridge,” Cassandra informed them as they approached the collapsed bridge. Feyhel frowned as he observed the destruction done to the crossing. “The fighting has gotten worse in the past months. This is but a small part of its destruction,” she explained as they began to cautiously make their way across the bridge. Varric followed behind Feyhel, ensuring the elf didn’t get harmed in his crossing. 

They reached the farms in no time, battling three wolves on their way in. The ghostly green glow of their eyes played in the back of Feyhel’s mind as they reached the area for the camp. 

“I will speak with Dennett,” Cassandra offered as she pointed to a log by the newly lit fire. “You will rest,” she ordered before watching as Feyhel sat himself down. The elf felt relieved that he didn’t have to do much more walking but he also felt a bubble of annoyance building inside him over the fact that he wasn’t able to do more than rest. His ankle throbbed as he carefully removed the bandages that Solas had applied. 

The bruising had become clearer. Hues of black, purple, and yellow tainted his tawny skin, an embarrassing reminder of his clumsy stumble over the tree root. Feyhel sighed as he picked up some of the herbs from his backpack. 

“What was the mixture the keeper taught me?” he muttered to himself before huffing and pushing his bag away in frustration. It crashed to the floor, spilling out the materials he’d so carefully collected on their walk. 

“Taking it out on the bag won’t help,” Varric teased as he sat himself down beside Feyhel. The elf hadn’t noticed that Solas had left with Cassandra leaving only him and Varric behind. “Need a hand? What are you looking for?” he asked as he picked up the bag and ingredients. 

“It’s not in there. I need to mix together spindleweed, blood lotus and some elfroot with water to make a paste that can go on my ankle when it’s next wrapped, and I don’t have enough Spindleweed,” Feyhel sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair slowly. Varric simply nodded and told him to stay put before disappearing down a bank behind the camp. 

With Varric gone, Feyhel stared into the fire. As he stared into the flames, images of himself and that strange elf from his dreams flickered to life. Fenris… That’s what Varric had called him. If Fenris was the same elf from his memories, of course. It could simply be his mind jumping to conclusions with a hope that he could converse with a figure from his past. Just who was this Fenris? Perhaps Varric could answer a few questions when he returned. They had nothing else to do, so it would be worth knowing the man in his dreams. 

“Here you are. Bundles of spindleweed. Don’t say I don’t help,” Varric teased as he set the plants carefully into the bag. Feyhel watched with a smile before nodding. 

“Thank you, Varric,” he said softly before nibbling on his own lip nervously. How would he bring up such a subject? 

“You look like there’s something on your mind, kid. What is it?” Varric asked as he sat himself down again. Feyhel gulped a little as he fiddled with his own fingers. 

“That elf you told me about, Fenris… what is he like?” he asked as he looked at Varric. The dwarf smiled as he set Bianca down beside him. 

“How would I describe Fenris? Brooding, for one. Always walked around with a scowl on his face. He was, and likely still is, a skilled warrior who hates mages with a passion,” Varric explained. Feyhel felt his blood run cold at the mention of Fenris hating mages. Admittedly, he did too, but he doubted it would be a topic they could bond over considering Feyhel also practiced magic. “He and Hawke had a good relationship, despite Garrett being a mage. Apparently, Hawke was the only mage he could stand to be around,” Varric finished before patting Feyhel’s back. “Don’t worry, kid. If you meet him, I’ll make sure you survive it.” 

As Varric finished speaking, Cassandra and Solas returned with four horses. Feyhel couldn’t help the excited smile that came to his lips as he stood to greet the stallion that he had been given. 

“Dennett has agreed to help us on the condition that we help his wife and Bron as well. We spoke with them and they want a pack of wolves to be disposed of and watchtowers to be built for the refugees safety,” Solas explained as he tied his two mares to a tree. “Cassandra and I will take care of the wolves, Varric would you mark the watchtowers?” Solas asked, Varric nodding in agreement. “Feyhel, remain here. We don’t want your ankle getting worse. Perhaps lay down for a while,” Solas suggested as he set his hand on the other elf’s shoulder. As much as Feyhel wished to join them, he simply huffed and nodded.

The group were gone for half an hour, and in that time, Feyhel managed to make another vegetable broth for him and his companions. Sitting idle irritated Feyhel, he spent his time worrying about his companions, wondering if they were okay. Varric especially, he liked Varric. 

“I do love returning to the smell of food,” Varric’s voice echoed, bringing Feyhel back from his bored state. He quickly scooped some food into a bowl and handed it to Varric who gratefully took it and sat back down. “I’m guessing I’m the first one back?” he asked, glancing around slowly. 

“You are. I hope Cassandra and Solas are okay,” Feyhel muttered as he slowly ate the bowl of broth in his hands. He didn’t trust the Seeker, nor Solas, but that didn’t stop him from worrying for his new companions. If they were to travel together, he needed to make sure his allies remained free from harm. 

“They’ll be fine, kid,” Varric assured as he patted Feyhel’s shoulder. Moments after he’d spoken, Solas and Cassandra returned. They had minor wounds but both of them still walked proudly and unhindered. Upon seeing them again, he breathed a sigh of relief. 

“The wolves we encountered were no ordinary beasts,” Solas explained as he took the food bowl offered to him. “We noticed a demon commanding the pack and when we killed it, we did retrieve this from the remains,” he reported before holding out an amulet. “I do not fully know it’s function, however it may come of use. It is yours, Feyhel,” Solas told him as he set the amulet around the elf’s neck. 

“Thank you, Solas,” Feyhel whispered with a smile, shocked that the spoils of the mission went to him. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to mention,” he spoke, sitting up a little as he looked at Cassandra. “I have a hart back with my clan, Aliyah, she’s been at my side since I came to the clan… would it be possible to get her transferred to the Inquisition?” Feyhel asked as he looked between his companions. 

“I’m sure Ruffles will be able to swing that for you,” Varric assured him as he set his empty bowl beside the fire. Ruffles? Who among the people at Haven went by Ruffles? Seeing the confusion on Feyhel’s face, Varric laughed. “Josephine,” he clarified, patting Feyhel on the back gently. 

Once more, the companions retired to their tents for the night and Feyhel sat alone with the crackling fire and the cloudless skies above him. He stared at his hand before muttering a soft incantation in Tevene. A green glow surrounded his hand and he slowly set it against his ankle. Despite the healing magic, the healing process sent flashes of pain up his leg. As painful as the healing proved, the pain showed the progress. Slowly, it ebbed away. Feyhel knew his ankle had been healed fully when only a dull throb pulsated under his skin each time magic tried to heal any damage. 

“That incantation… It was Tevene, wasn’t it?” Solas’ voice spoke up, making Feyhel jump back and fall from the log he’d sat on. He hadn’t noticed Solas’ presence, being more focused on being able to walk and ride properly the next day.

“I… yes, it was. It’s a healing incantation. Though the pain isn’t worth it,” Feyhel started with a gentle laugh before then standing up and looking at Solas. “People think healing magic is fine and most of the time it is, but I've discovered that if I use it on myself it hurts,” he finished before stretching a little. 

“You should sleep now you can walk to your tent without pain,” Solas told him with a smile as he motioned to Feyhel’s tent. As if on queue, Feyhel yawned. The action made Solas chuckle as he watched the elf slowly walk to his tent. Feyhel looked over his shoulder and bade Solas goodnight before joining Varric in the tent. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

The journey back to Haven proved to be easier with the horses. Easier and quicker. Feyhel didn’t end up with more bruises and he certainly felt thankful for that. Once they reached the small town, Feyhel quickly made his way back to the hut that he’d been allocated - the one he’d woken up in after sealing the breach. When he finally entered his room, he flopped down onto the bed with his face buried into the pillows. As he lay there, he contemplated how much his life had changed over the past few weeks. He’d first emerged as a prisoner, and now? He’d become dubbed the Herald of Andraste, a symbol people trusted. Though he had reservations about being named after a human deity, he knew it wouldn’t go away if he asked. 

As he lay there, his eyes slowly fluttered closed. However, a knock at the door tore away the relaxed bliss he’d slowly slipped into.

“Yes?” he asked groggily, shuffling to sit properly on the bed. A smile danced to his lips as Varric walked into the room. “Varric,” he breathed as he swung his legs off the side of the bed to sit correctly. 

“I thought we could talk, kid,” Varric said gently as he sat beside the elf. “You asked me what Fenris had been like in Kirkwall, but I want to know what you recall of him from the dreams you have,” he spoke softly, his hands linked together in his lap as he looked at the elf. 

“I… whatever I remembered before is even less now. The mark from the breach has wiped more memories than I thought, memories I’d recovered during my time with the clan… I had been making good progress with them,” he whispered, his shoulders dropping as the realisation set in slowly. 

“Things must be hard for you, Feyhel,” Varric whispered, setting his hand on the elf’s shoulder and squeezing it gently. Feyhel gulped back tears that threatened to fall as he nodded silently. 

Hours passed and conversations between the two began to flow. Varric had told tales of his adventures with Hawke while they lived in Kirkwall just to get a smile or a laugh from Feyhel; a tactic that worked. 

“Did Hawke seriously do that? To a dragon?” Feyhel asked between bursts of laughter, arms wrapped around his stomach as he clutched it. His sides hurt and tears of laughter were streaming down his cheeks. 

“To this day, nobody believes me!” Varric stated, laughter in his own voice. “But I assure you, we were out of potions with no way out. So, Hawke being Hawke, he bent down and bared his ass to this fire breathing dragon! I don’t know if it worked but it gave us enough time to pick Anders off the floor and run for the caves!” he finished, smiling as Feyhel erupted in louder laughter. 

“I wish I could meet him,” Feyhel hummed as he finally calmed down, his breathing returning to a natural pace. Varric gave a coy smile as he squeezed Feyhel’s shoulder.

“Perhaps you will, kid,” he said gently, a smile still on his lips. “Also, pay no mind to Solas if he starts prying. That elf likes anything that could be classed as mysterious. Throw in some magic and he’s froliking in the fade from joy,” he explained with a chuckle as he walked toward the door. 

“Thank you for this, Varric. It’s helped a lot,” he said gently as he rubbed the back of his neck. Perhaps he could have a friend in Varric. He got along well with the dwarf and he seemed to be the only person who seemed to treat him like a normal person. 

“Get some rest, kid. We’ve got the ride for Val Royeaux tomorrow. At least we don’t have to walk now,” he joked as he left the hut. Feyhel just chuckled and lay himself back down on the bed. Alone again, he raised his hands above him to look at the marks. One on the palm of his hand, the other on the back of it. Both marks on his left and right hand had wiped his memories. First the Solium mark that had been unwillingly burned into his flesh and the second being from the breach. Both made him feel like an abomination. A groan left him as he rolled onto his side. He curled himself up and drifted into a restless sleep.


	4. Val Royaux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to JenniferHawke again! I'm singing your praises so much!

After a gruelling few days of riding on the backs of the horses, the horizon finally previewed their goal. Val Royeaux. When the capital came to view, Feyhel gulped slowly. The sight radiated an intimidating aura for the elf. The looming, gold pyres stood out and towered above everything else. He knew he wouldn’t like the Capital and he was liking it even less now. As they crossed the bridge, he fell behind the group slightly. Apprehension and anxiety bubbled in his stomach, making it feel like his feet were glued to the floor as he finally stopped walking. 

“It seems the Capital doesn’t agree with you,” Varric stated as he stepped closer to the elf. Feyhel’s tanned skin paled slightly, causing the red Valaslin etched across his face to contrast with his usually tanned skin more than usual. 

“I’m fine, I just feel a little nauseated. It will pass,” he assured Varric as he eyed the gates cautiously. He knew they wouldn’t be welcomed there, and knowing that had made him as cautious as a young Halla.

“We must be careful. There will be people here that will want to harm you,” Cassandra warned as she set her hand supportively on Feyhel’s back. 

“Yeah, I know that much. Some more than others, likely,” he grumbled with a roll of his eyes. “Someone’s coming this way,” he muttered, watching as an Inquisition scout ran towards them. 

“I will talk with them. You focus on getting colour back to your cheeks,” Cassandra told him as she walked to Leliana’s agent.

Feyhel watched cautiously, picking up on some of the conversations. He heard something about a templar presence in the city. His mind put the rest of the information together, guessing the templar’s were there for the Inquisition. 

“Bad news,” Cassandra stated as she walked back to the group, “apparently Lord Seeker Lucius is here with the Order. Something about protecting the city,” she explained as she leaned against the wall. 

“Just our luck,” Varric muttered with a sigh. “So the Order is here to deal with the upstarts, yes?” he asked and rubbed his forehead when Cassandra nodded. Feyhel bit his lip before looking to the gates. His gaze hardened with new determination as he turned to look at Cassandra. 

“We’re going to see the clerics. Solas, Varric, be on the lookout for the templars. Stay back unless something major happens. I’ll give you a signal if we need you,” Feyhel ordered with Varric and Solas nodding in agreement. With Cassandra behind him, Feyhel finally crossed the bridge and into the main square. 

His previous panic set in again as he saw how many people were in the square. He was still hunted by Tevinter slavers, and large crowds gave way for them to hide in plain sight. A high price had been put on his head for the ‘special’ treatment that had been done to him, and since he was an escaped slave, the price was higher. He, however, felt thankful for Cassandra being at his side. She offered some comfort to him. Hopefully he wouldn’t be approached with Cassandra there. 

“Over there, I think that’s where the cleric’s are,” Cassandra spoke up, bringing Feyhel out of his spiraling thoughts. The elf nodded and exhaled slowly. “Are you okay? I can go over there if you wish?” she offered, setting her hand on his shoulder with a comforting smile on her lips. 

“No, I need to do this. Mother Giselle said I need to show my face and swing opinions toward us,” he whispered while running his fingers through his hair slowly. 

The crowds arguments died down as Feyhel and Cassandra approached, the Chantry sisters turning their attention and their speeches towards their presence. Feyhel didn’t hear what they said, but he knew they were ranting about the Divine’s death. He felt tempted to speak up when a templar walked up onto the podium and roughly hit the cleric on the back of her head. Collective gasps echoed around the square as she fell rather ungraciously to the floor in a heap. 

A silver haired man in armour similar to Cassandra’s soon walked onto the podium and stared directly at Feyhel. The elf could feel the anger building inside him, enough to make his Solium mark spit and hiss hot fire. The only thing that calmed him seemed to be Cassandra’s hand on his wrist and a soft mutter that she would handle the situation. 

As the anger began to cloud his mind, Feyhel knew he couldn’t handle the situation in his state. With a nod, he stepped back to allow Cassandra to calm the situation. Through his racing thoughts of wishes to break this man’s nose in various ways he could vaguely hear the conversation between Cassandra and the silver haired male. Feyhel didn’t like him. His first impression left a sour taste in his mouth. 

After a few minutes he calmed, just in time to witness the templar’s marching away from Val Royeaux. With a roll of his eyes, Feyhel turned back to Cassandra slowly. 

“So, no templar help?” he asked, frowning when the Seeker shook her head. The anger on her face sign enough. As they mulled over the situation, Solas and Varric rejoined them and Cassandra filled them in on what had happened. 

“We may as well look around while we’re here. Meet back at the gates in an hour,” Feyhel told everyone before turning to speak to a vendor behind them. As he walked away, he smiled proudly knowing he’d recruited an agent to the Inquisition from a simple conversation. After walking a few steps, an arrow landed in front of him. “What the..?” he questioned as he picked the parchment up and read over it. “Riddles? Really?” he grumbled, sitting himself in the shade as he pondered what the meaning of the note meant. It explained that three red scarves were hidden around the capital with hints of a location on each. However Feyhel was struggling to discover where they were all located. 

“What have you got there?” Varric spoke up, making Feyhel jump and look up from his position on the floor. 

“Kaffas, Varric! You scared me!” Feyhel laughed as he rubbed the side of his face. Varric simply chuckled and sat himself beside Feyhel to look at the note when the elf offered it to him. “Someone shot it to me from… somewhere,” he muttered as he read over the writing again. 

“So, there is one of these red scarves on the docks, in the restaurant and on the upper level,” Varric stated after reading the note twice. Feyhel blinked rapidly as he looked between the note and Varric. “It’s all in there, you just have to know what to look out for,” he explained before standing. “Shall we go hunting?” 

Feyhel smiled as Varric offered to join him, glad he wouldn’t have to do it alone. He stood up and dusted himself off before tucking the note into his pack. 

An hour later, Feyhel huffed as he and Varric returned to the centre of the city. He’d been sent on a meaningless run around of Val Royeaux for riddles wrapped in red scarves given to him by a seemingly stray arrow with a note from a weird Red Jenny. This new information, deciphered by Varric, prevented him from leaving instantly. He’d been given a location and a time to meet the person behind the strange notes. He felt suffocated in the crowds, his skin crawling and itching uncomfortably more with every second he spent there. However, in his brooding state he almost walked into a man in circle robes who was awaiting his arrival. 

“I have been instructed to give you this. See you this evening, Herald,” the man spoke before walking away before Feyhel had time to answer. 

“Oh, come on!” he growled as he stared at the parchment. It was an invitation to a ‘Madame De Fer’s’ Salon. “I don’t want to go to this!” he grumbled as he looked at Varric. 

“What do you not wish to attend?” Solas asked as he and Cassandra walked over to the pair. Feyhel looked up at the other elf with a childish pout while showing them the letter. 

“Well, we shouldn’t keep her waiting then,” Cassandra said with a chuckle as she coaxed Feyhel toward the exit of the square. As they continued along the road, a sudden chill travelled up Feyhel’s spine. He carefully looked around the area and locked eyes with a merchant who was seemingly staring directly at him. The glint of the metal on his armour resembled that of a city guard in Tevinter. The yellows and whites all too familiar to him. 

“We need to move, now,” he hissed, pushing his companions out the gates of the city. While ushering them out, he attempted to locate the merchant again, but he’d vanished. 

“You okay there, kid? You seem jumpy,” Varric asked as he looked at Feyhel when he stopped pushing them. Feyhel looked back at them and gulped as Cassandra stormed to him.

“Do not ever push me again,” she growled before stepping away from the elf and taking a breath. Feyhel sighed and muttered an apology as he looked at Varric again. 

“I’m fine, Varric. I just saw that merchant and had this… bad feeling rise in my gut. Come on, let’s leave this infernal place,” he grumbled as he began walking for the exit. Pausing to glance back, he frowned. In his mind there was a trinket stand and merchant directly opposite to the gate. 

“Perhaps it was a hallucination?” Solas suggested as he followed Feyhel’s gaze. The Dalish elf gulped as he continued to stare at the empty space. Solas suggesting a hallucination made him consider how his mind, in his paranoid state, had begun playing tricks on him. The possibility was high that the merchant didn’t exist. Especially since he only saw Tevinter robes and a shadowed face. 

A shaky breath left him as Cassandra called out to him. She and Varric had walked ahead whilst Feyhel and Solas paused contemplating the existence of the merchant. Tearing his eyes away from the empty space in the square, he walked with Solas back to his other companions. 

“Excuse me! Before you leave,” a voice called out to them. Feyhel sighed and slowly turned around to look at the owner of the voice. 

“Grand Enchanter?” Cassandra questioned as the elven woman approached them. Feyhel raised an eyebrow at he looked to the Grand Enchanter. 

“Yes. My name is Fiona, I come with an invitation to Redcliffe. If you are looking to close the breach, then the mages can help you. Come as soon as you can,” she stated before turning and walking away. Feyhel watched with a raised eyebrow but he soon shook his head and looked his companions.

“Come on, Madame De Fer is waiting,” he stated before going to where they’d left their mounts just outside the city. “Also, can we agree to never return to that place again?” he asked as he climbed onto the horse. As he did, the mare reared her head back and snorted. Feyhel huffed in response. He much preferred the hart’s, they seemed to like him more than the horses. 

“Why do you wish to never return?” Solas asked with a raised eyebrow. “Is it because of the templars or because the chantry sisters hold distaste for you?” Solas questioned. Feyhel gulped a little as he gripped the horses reins a little tighter. 

“There were too many people there,” he muttered before looking at Solas “I felt physically uncomfortable there, like I stood out as if I were an inflamed thumb,” he complained with a sigh, rubbing his forehead slightly. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, kid?” Varric asked as he pulled his horse up alongside Feyhel’s. The elf just nodded and muttered about having a headache. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Madame De Fer’s estate was a short walk from Val Royeaux. The entire trip, Feyhel was silently mulling over what he had to do in there. All he wanted to do was walk in, meet this Madame and then leave. Hopefully with a new ally. 

“You know what you must do, yes?” Cassandra asked as she stopped Feyhel just outside the gate. 

“Yes. I go in, talk up the Inquisition, hopefully recruit whoever this person is and get out of there to meet with the Red Jenny,” Feyhel repeated the instructions Cassandra had given him. She nodded and stepped out of his way to allow him to pass. 

Two hours later, Feyhel drunkenly stumbled out of the chateau with a gleeful giggle leaving him. He approached his companions, stumbling into an annoyed looking Cassandra. 

“You took your time,” she stated, the unamusement clear in her voice. Feyhel reached up and put his finger to her lips, shushing her softly before standing himself back up. 

“You also seem to have had a good time,” Varric commented with a soft chuckle leaving him, patting Feyhel’s back softly. 

“There was so much dancing!” Feyhel gushed as he smiled widely, “just like the parties in Tevinter! Music, dancing! Though no blood magic. That’s bad, all those poor children,” he slurred, hiccuping slightly before humming to himself. “We do have a new ally though! Viv… Vivi-something,” he stated, struggling to say her name. 

“We’ve truly lost him,” Varric laughed, holding onto Feyhel to stop him from falling over. Feyhel had never been drunk before so this was new to him. The burn of the alcohol being something the elf chased whilst in the salon, feeling himself losing all the tension on his shoulders. He felt lighter than a cloud and he never wanted the sensation to come to an end. 

“He needs to sober up quickly if we are to meet these Red Jennies,” Cassandra stated before taking a potion from her satchel and sitting Feyhel on a wall. “Take this,” she ordered before forcing the potion down Feyhel’s throat as he fought against it. 

Once he drank it all, Cassandra walked back to Solas and Varric while it took effect. He swayed for a while longer before putting his head into his hands as the potion forced the alcohol from his system. 

“Is he truly of Tevinter?” Cassandra asked as she looked at Varric and Solas. The pair shrugged, implying they didn’t know, before Cassandra turned to Varric. “Well, I want to know the truth,” she stated, motioning for Varric to talk to Feyhel. The dwarf sighed, but nodded before making his way to Feyhel’s side. 

“I don’t see why him being from Tevinter matters,” Varric muttered under his breath as he walked away from Cassandra to take a seat beside Feyhel. 

“What just happened?” Feyhel asked, his hand still holding his pounding head. Perhaps drowning his sorrows wouldn’t be the way to go in the future, not if it ended with more pain. 

“You were rather drunk, you seemed happier as well,” Varric informed him, taking a red potion from his pocket. “Here, this should help with the headache,” he said softly, smiling as Feyhel took it and gulped it down. His headache soon ebbed away, enabling him to sit up straight again. 

“Drunk? Kaffas, I’m sorry…” he muttered as he looked to Varric. The dwarf only chuckled and shook his head, patting Feyhel’s back. 

“There’s no need to apologise for having fun, though, do you remember what you were saying before being given that elixr?” Varric asked. When Feyhel nodded, Varric simply patted his back again. He didn’t push for more answers. Feyhel knew exactly what he was talking about in his drunken slurring. The blood-letting parties he was always forced to attend. Even now, he could still hear the screams of the children as their throats and wrists were slit. He could still recollect the metallic scent of blood as he was forced to collect it. That was a memory he hoped would stay forgotten. 

“Come on, we should meet these Jennies,” Feyhel stated as he stood up and walked to his mount. Varric watched before nodding and climbing onto his horse when Feyhel did, Solas and Cassandra following suit. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

The trip to the secluded courtyard was silent. It didn’t take very long for them to reach the meeting point and Feyhel felt a sense of unease about the area. Something didn’t feel right. 

“Keep your guard up. I don’t like this,” he whispered while taking his staff from his back. Cassandra nodded in agreement as everyone else took their weapons from their backs. 

Feyhel’s mind was racing. He had too many memories of Tevinter dancing through his head, like when he was talking with Varric, he could hear the screams of children as knives pierced their skins. He didn’t want to remember that, those memories could stay forgotten but they’d been dug up again. 

“Herald!” Cassandra shouted, bringing him back to reality as a fireball skimmed his cheek. 

“Shit,” Feyhel hissed, instantly swinging his staff and cutting down the opponent who stood before him with the blade that was attached. With a flick of his wrist, an energy barrage took care of another that charged in his direction. “There, let’s continue on,” Feyhel growled as he plunged his blade into yet another bodyguard. 

“He goes from quiet and brooding to fierce and terrifying far too quickly,” Varric noted as he and Solas began following Feyhel. 

Ahead of them, Feyhel had opened a set of large doors and come face to face with some baron ranting about the Inquisition finding him. Before Feyhel could even engage with him, an arrow shot through the back of his head and out of the man’s mouth. 

The conversation with the newcomer could only be described as confusing. She gave the name of Sera a city elf who talked faster than a running horse. At least Feyhel thought so. Her introductory rant included babbling about corrupt nobles, people needing to be knocked down a peg and more importantly wanting in on the inquisition. Cassandra wasn’t impressed but Feyhel knew they needed all the allies they could get. 

Half an hour later, they left the courtyard with a new ally headed for Haven. The scowl on Cassandra’s face had only gotten worse. 

“That was odd,” Cassandra commented as they began to leave, following the direction that their new ally Sera walked. Feyhel only laughed quietly as he rubbed the back of his head. 

“Believe me, since waking up in that chantry basement, things have been odd,” Feyhel grumbled was he rubbed his forehead, the group now walking toward the exit of the courtyard. 

“Things have been odd since the chantry explosion in Kirkwall, kid. So it’s not just you,” Varric joked as he nudged Feyhel. The elf couldn’t help but laugh at his comment. 

“I would say things have always been odd, despite recent events,” Solas chipped in, making Varric and Feyhel laugh more. An annoyed grunt came from Cassandra, however, there was a hint of a smile on her lips. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

They arrived back at Haven after an exhausting trip. Feyhel was more than ready to throw himself into his bed and stay there for days just to allow his body to recover from the constant travelling. It would also allow him to escape from Solas and his seemingly never ending questions. 

The questions that he’d asked prompted memories to flood his mind again, memories Feyhel would have preferred to remain locked away. However, the memories would never stay long. Only during the conversations and then they fluttered off to the darkest reaches of his mind again. As much as he didn’t wish to remember some details, it frustrated him that memories could return but be gone as soon as they came. His only theory to his issue being the mark on his left hand, that his connection to the fade began putting a block on his mind to prevent the memories from fully forming and remaining. He thought about discussing it with Solas, but that would mean more questions and Feyhel didn’t want that. 

“Herald, don’t forget we need to speak with the advisors about what happened,” Cassandra spoke up, breaking his thoughts.

“Right! Yes, I’ll be right there, I have something I need to do,” he told her before jumping from the horse and going toward the blacksmith. He needed a new staff. 

Once his request had been put in, he kept his word and went to the chantry. Cassandra was waiting for him outside and a look of relief seemed to cross her face as he approached. 

“Did you think I wasn’t coming?” Feyhel asked in a teasing tone. Cassandra only chuckled and opened the chantry doors. 

As soon as he was inside, three voices began talking over one another. Cullen, Leliana and Josephine were arguing about what to do about the entire situation, all three stumbling over who to side with in a circular manner. Cassandra sighed quietly and rubbed her forehead. Observing the three, Feyhel saw them like squabbling siblings over what game they wanted to play. Only with more adult language. He half considered turning around and leaving again. 

“Okay, I’ve heard enough!” Feyhel suddenly spoke, raising his voice a little over the bickering three. “You know, this matter would be solved so much more quickly if you stopped bickering for ten minutes!” He stated as he looked between the now quiet advisors. “Now, I will be going to Redcliffe — don’t say anything!” he explained, turning and pointing at Cullen when he opened his mouth to speak. “I will be going because we need to explore every option. Yes, a choice needs to be made, but let me meet both sides before we start jumping at options, understand?” Feyhel spoke, his face stern and hard as he looked between his advisors. All three just nodded before Leliana and Cullen left for the War Room. 

Feyhel exhaled as they left, running his fingers through his hair slowly. Cassandra had been stunned to silence but she gave two slow pats to Feyhel’s back. 

“Nicely handled there,” Josephine complimented as she approached Feyhel. “I’ve never seen Cullen look so scared,” she commented with a gentle chuckle. 

“Someone needed to stop the arguments,” Feyhel hummed as he looked at the ambassador, who nodded in agreement. 

“There’s a messenger outside for you, it may be wise to speak with them before leaving for Redcliffe,” Josephine informed him with a soft tone to her voice before bowing her head slowly and going to the War Room as well. 

“Go speak with this messenger, I will keep Cullen from imploding about the possibility of mages joining the ranks,” Cassandra said softly as she too entered the War Room. Seconds later, Feyhel could hear the arguments building again and he just rolled his eyes as he turned to leave the chantry. However, hearing Cassandra shout over the arguing was a relief. 

He silently wished Cassandra the best of luck trying to calm Cullen. The man had the temper of a lion. A quiet snicker left Feyhel at the image in his head. A lion with Cullen’s face. It wasn’t hard for the elf to make the comparison with the amount of plumage around the warriors neck, but it seemed fitting for him. 

“Messenger?” Feyhel muttered to himself as he opened the chantry doors. As soon as he did, he was met with a young man in, what looked to be, Free Marches armour. 

“Excuse me? Perhaps you’ll listen. I’ve been trying all day but no one seems to be listening to me,” the man spoke up as soon as he caught Feyhel’s gaze. The elf nodded and motioned for him to continue. 

As this man explained the message, telling Feyhel of a possible ally along the Storm Coast, the elf couldn’t help but hear the familiar twinge of a Tevinter accent. His guard went up slightly but if this messenger were here for him, something would have happened already. 

“Alright, I’ll happily come to the Storm Coast. Just, give me an hour to figure out what to do about this mage and templar bullshit that’s happening,” Feyhel grumbled as he rubbed the side of his head, making the messenger chuckle. 

“Alright, I’ll be at the stables,” the man said softly before turning to leave. 

“Wait! I didn’t catch your name,” Feyhel stated hurriedly. The man smiled and looked over his shoulder, stating his name was Krem before finally leaving in the direction of the main gate. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Feyhel sighed heavily as he leant against the War Table. The arguments were just going around in circles. Even Cassandra couldn’t contain them and had decided to join the fray as mages were brought up, again. Feyhel growled quietly before he slammed his fist down on the table. 

“That is enough!” He shouted, shutting everyone up in an instant. “Look, I have no idea what the fuck all of your problems are, but we need to meet with the damned mages!” His anger and irritation was clear as he looked at the group. “We’ve seen the templars already and, after the events in Val Royeaux, I highly doubt we’re going to get their help. So just let me go and explore every option we have!” He fumed, still glaring at everyone. “First, however, I’m going to the Storm Coast. Dismissed,” Feyhel ordered before turning on his heel and leaving the room, leaving the advisors shocked and frozen in place. 

As he left, he was muttering various curses in Tevene. His pace was fast and he soon found himself outside the stables. 

“Didn’t know you spoke Tevene,” Krem’s voice spoke up, making Feyhel jump back in surprise. 

“Fasta vass!” He cried out as he put his hand over his heart, feeling it racing under his fingertips. Once he’d calmed himself and his heart, he looked at the amused Krem before chuckling himself “sorry, I’m very much out of it at the moment,” he explained with a soft huff. 

“I’m happy to lend an ear if you need it?” Krem offered as he ran a hand down one of the horses necks comfortingly. 

“This whole situation is just too damn stressful,” Feyhel muttered as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m expected to make a choice between mages and templars but no matter who I choose, I’ll be hated either way,” Feyhel rambled as he began pacing slowly. 

“You can’t please everyone. You must make the choice you feel is right. When you do, they’ll follow,” Krem explained before mounting the horse. “Gather your party. I’ll ride ahead,” he said before pushing the horse to leave. 

Running back inside the small town, Feyhel headed straight for Varric. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he approached, causing the dwarf to hold his hands out in preparation of catching a falling elf. 

“What’s the hurry, kid?” He asked with a soft chuckle leaving him. 

“We have a job at the Storm Coast,” Feyhel explained as he straightened himself out, glancing around to ensure no one but Varric had seen his stumble. Thankfully, people were too busy to witness the interaction. “I’d like you to come with me, please?” Feyhel asked meekly as he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Of course. Someone has to make sure you don’t trip over any more tree roots,” Varric teased, chuckling when Feyhel turned a light shade of red. “I’m joking with you, kid. Who do you want to join us?”

“Blackwall and Solas,” Feyhel stated as he crossed his arms over his chest. As much as he felt uncomfortable with Solas, he was a skilled mage and he knew that those skills would be useful. “After the arguments in the War Room, I don’t think I can look at Cassandra without singeing the hair on her head,” he muttered with a sigh. 

“Good choice. If you get Hero, I’ll grab Chuckles,” Varric suggested, smiling when Feyhel nodded in agreement. “As for singeing Cassandra’s hair, I think she’d be sent into a rampage and no one wants to see that,” he joked, making Feyhel laugh softly. The elf soon left Varric to talk with Blackwall down by the stables. 

It didn’t take long to convince the warrior to join him on the expedition. Blackwall did give him a request to look for anything that could link to the Wardens. A request Feyhel was happy to accept. 

While he and Blackwall prepared the horses, the newly arrived Dennett walked over with a mount in tow. 

“Herald! I have a gift for you, straight from Clan Lavellan, I do believe,” he said softly before handing the reins of the Royal Sixteen to Feyhel. 

“Aliyah?” Feyhel questioned quietly, smiling as the hart snorted her hot breath into his face. “I missed you too!” he stated happily as he threw his arms around the hart’s strong neck, hugging her. The hart brayed quietly and lowered her head to rest her chin against Feyhel’s shoulder. 

“Told you Ruffles could do anything,” Varric hummed, setting the saddle on his own horse. 

“I haven’t even been to Josephine yet…” Feyhel muttered as he ran a hand down Aliyah’s neck slowly. 

“I know, I thought this would be a nice surprise. I remembered you mentioning her,” Varric told him with a smile. Feyhel couldn’t help but smile more, the gesture meaning more to him than he could explain. 

His attention turned back to the hart, his fingers gliding over her soft coat. He missed her and he was glad he could be reunited with her. 

“This breed is very rare,” Solas spoke as he carefully looked over the hart. “Her colours are wonderful, how did you acquire such a magnificent beast?” he asked, looking at Feyhel curiously. 

“Before the clan accepted me in, I was nearly killed by a pack of wolves. She came and saved me. When she did, I’d stopped running and accepted these wolves would potentially kill me. One got close, hence the scar over my eye and along my cheek,” he explained, smiling as the hart turned its head and nudged his cheek with her nose. “The Keeper accepted me in after Aliyah returned me to the clan. When I received my Valaslin, she was gifted to me and hasn’t left my side since.”

Solas listened to the story intently, his expression showing he had been taking in all the information from Feyhel. Even Blackwall and Varric were listening by the time Feyhel had finished. The elf soon cleared his throat and climbed onto the hart’s back, not needing a saddle. 

“Come on, we should go,” he stated as Solas and Blackwall mounted their horses as well. Once everyone was ready, they followed the direction that Krem had left in. Feyhel hoped to catch up with him before nightfall.


	5. Iron Bull and Redcliffe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another huge thanks to JenniferHawke for the beta read of this chapter!

After catching up to Krem, Feyhel decided to set camp for the night. The ride to the coast would take them a few days and the sky had begun to turn from bright blues to blends of oranges, and reds with early stars beginning to appear in the darkening sky. 

“So, your accent,” Krem started as he sat beside Feyhel while the elf cooked their meal. “You don’t sound Fereldan,” he stated as he watched the elf. 

“You picked up on that rather quickly,” Feyhel said with a soft chuckle leaving him before looking at Krem with a soft smile. The warrior simply shrugged and laughed. 

“The chief taught me a few things,” he told him before tapping his chin a little. “You’re from Tevinter, or around Tevinter” he guessed, smiling ever so slightly when Feyhel nodded stiffly. His last memories of Tevinter included a large estate and chains. He remembered nothing about his younger years, each time he tried it made him feel sick and it gave him a migraine. As a result, he opted to accept the obvious; he was born and raised in Tevinter in the home of the wiry haired magister that tortured him in his teen years. 

“I am, yes,” Feyhel uttered quietly, running his fingers through his snow white hair, as if to push back the memories bleeding through into his mind. Krem nodded and patted his back, no longer saying anything more on the subject. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Days later, they approached the initial camp on the Storm Coast. The rain had dampened Feyhel’s mood considerably. The leather beneath his armour absorbed the water and, as a result, had stuck to uncomfortably to his skin. The painful byproduct? A red raw chafe on his thighs as they rubbed against Aliyah’s sides. This caused them to burn with each step his hart made. He dreaded the return trip to Haven with his soggy leathers. 

“I’ll go on ahead and let the chief know you’re here. Don’t be late!” Krem called as he disappeared down the bank and out of sight. Feyhel just watched with a raised eyebrow and a nod as they closed in on the camp.

Pulling Aliyah to a halt as Scout Harding came into view, Feyhel winced. He knew there were sores forming on his thighs that would take weeks to heal. Carefully, he dismounted Aliyah, the hart lowering herself to aid him. He smiled and thanked her quietly as he stroked over her nose. As he did, Varric spoke with Harding about the area. Feyhel smiled as he watched Varric, taking note on how helpful he was. Varric was definitely one of his companions that he would class as a friend. 

“So, we have an encampment of bandits, lost scouts, and of course your mysterious messenger’s boss,” Varric stated as he walked over to Feyhel. Solas and Blackwall were stocking up on potions on the other side of camp, the horses tied to individual trees close by with Aliyah happily eating the watered grass beside them. “What’s the move?” Varric asked, bringing Feyhel’s attention back from his surroundings.

“Well, I think we should meet with Krem’s contact,” Feyhel explained as he looked at Varric. “Then maybe send word for Sera, Cassandra, and Vivienne to take care of the bandits?” he suggested, making Varric chuckle. 

“I’m sure Cassandra would like to beat them senseless,” Varric joked as they walked towards Blackwall and Solas, who had finished collecting potions and had decided to wait at the edge of camp.

Leaving the camp, Feyhel kept a keen eye out for Krem and the person he wanted them to meet. However, as they came closer to the beach, the sound of metal clanging sharply against one another filled the elf’s ears. 

“Over here! Come on!” Feyhel urged as he took his staff from his back and charged forward, the mark of the rift and his Solium mark glowing in preparation for battle. 

“Every time…” Varric muttered to himself with a chuckle. The three companions were quick to unsheathe their weapons and follow behind the Herald. 

As the beach came into view, so did the conflict. Quickly scanning the group, Feyhel halted his gaze on a large Qunari. ‘Perhaps that’s our guy,’ Feyhel thought to himself as he looked to the group they were fighting. The armour and the Tevinter markings on the armour caused him to freeze in place. It felt as though the air had been knocked clean from his body and a high pitched ringing started to echo in his ears. He lost track of time as his mind reeled through memories, the mark of the Imperium in the foreground of the blurred images. 

_“How is he doing?” a cold voice echoed. Blinking his eyes open, Feyhel glanced around. Where was he? The room he’d awoken in held a damp smell mixed with lyrium._

_“The procedure has taken well, despite his body fighting back,” another voice spoke up. Who were they? He tried to move but as he turned his head to the left he noticed the chains holding him in place. Panic bubbled in his throat as he turned to look at his right hand. New patterns had appeared in his skin, a dull glow coming from the back of his hand, a glow that got brighter when he noticed it. _

_“What’s happening?” the second voice called out, panic clear in their tone. The original voice didn’t reply as Feyhel dipped his head and clenched his jaw. He began pulling at the chains, the heat of his right hand growing rapidly and melting the metal. A loud metallic clash echoed around the room as his right arm fell to his side._

_“He’s ready,” the first voice finally spoke, stepping into Feyhel’s line of sight. The wiry haired man took his chin between his thumb and index finger. “You will be the pride and the salvation of Tevinter.” _

“Feyhel! Feyhel!” A rushed voice called out, and Feyhel shook his head to clear his mind. When he retained his vision, Feyhel realised he was hunched on the ground with his fingers clutching the jagged earth, small pebbles stuck to his aching palms. The Solium mark on his right hand burning harshly sending tingles up his arm and fusing the pebbles together from the intense heat. “Are you alright, kid?” Varric. Varric’s voice had pulled him from another memory. Looking up, Solas and Blackwall were finishing off the last of the soldiers while Krem tended to the injured. The Qunari was looking in his direction with a concerned expression on his face. 

“His name’s Iron Bull. Well, The Iron Bull,” Varric explained as he helped Feyhel stand, motioning for this ‘Iron Bull’ to walk over. 

“So, you’re the one?” Iron Bull asked as he approached the group. Feyhel nodded slowly as he watched him. There was something about him that he didn’t like, that he didn’t trust. However, he knew he shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover. 

“I hear you want to join us,” Feyhel spoke softly as he brushed the dirt from his wet clothes, grunting when it only spread across the material. Bull simply chuckled and motioned for him to follow, mentioning something about having drinks first. 

An hour later, Bull and his men were packing up and preparing to leave for Haven. Feyhel smiled proudly as he looked to them. Despite not being able to help in the battle, Bull seemed understanding. However, learning of his Ben Hassrath link made him uneasy. Bull had quickly picked up on his origin as well, stating his reaction to the ‘Vint’s they were fighting was clue enough that his experience wasn’t a good one. 

“So, a new ally in the form of a Ben Hassrath spy. You know how to pick them,” Blackwall spoke with a twinge of amusement in his voice as they returned to the camp. Feyhel simply chuckled and nodded as he looked to the warrior. 

“Help comes in all forms, apparently,” Feyhel joked as they climbed back onto the mounts. He winced as he settled onto Aliyah’s back, the friction burns on his thighs screaming painfully at the smallest touches. “Okay, first I want to go somewhere so I can dry off and tend to the bloody chaffing on my legs and get away from this blasted rain,” Feyhel stated as he guided Aliyah away from the camp, his companions following behind. 

“There was a house we passed on the way in, we could make camp there for the night?” Solas suggested. Feyhel thought for a second, weighing out their options. He knew the abandoned cottage would be a better option than setting up camp in the rain. He simply wanted to dry off before he got ill.

Soon enough, the cottage came into view. The walls were crumbling but the roof was whole enough to protect them from the worsening rain and soft rumbles of thunder in the distance. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, their clothes were dry and Feyhel had applied a cream he made from elfroot paste onto his sore thighs. His skin had been rubbed raw from his leather pants and as the wounds dried, the more painful it became for him to walk. 

“We should ride for Redcliffe and meet with the mages,” Blackwall suggested as he handed out bowls of porridge for their breakfast. Feyhel nodded as he began eating, he knew it needed to be done, but he needed to sort his sores out first. 

“We will, I just need to make sure my thighs heal properly first. I think Harritt got my measurements wrong or the leather has shrunk in the rain because my thighs are rubbing up a storm,” Feyhel grumbled as he sat by the fire, in his small clothes and his legs open slightly while his leathers dried beside the open flame.

“So that’s why there was a storm last night!” Varric joked, causing the group to laugh softly as they ate. For Feyhel, it was nice to have a relaxed setting. It was better than sitting outside by a fire that would end up extinguishing every ten minutes from the rain.

“Have you given thought to the missing patrol that Harding mentioned?” Solas questioned as he looked at Feyhel. The elf sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I said I would send a group to locate them, we have more important business to attend to. I assure you, they will be found,” Feyhel stated as he set his bowl down, and Solas nodded in agreement. Varric couldn’t help but chuckle at the interaction, making Feyhel turn and raise an eyebrow at the dwarf. “What?” he asked, leaning closer to Varric slowly, who simply shrugged and held his hands up in playful surrender. “You laughed at me, what’s on your mind?” he questioned further as he moved to sit beside him.

“You just seem to be falling into a leader roll. It’s good to see someone taking control of the madness that’s going on,” Varric explained with amusement in his voice. Feyhel just rolled his eyes and nudged his friend gently. 

An hour later, they packed up and prepared to leave again. Feyhel had wrapped some bandages around his thighs to create a small barrier between his skin and the pants. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

The journey to Redcliffe was uninterrupted and quiet. The weather improved the further from the Storm Coast they travelled, something that made Feyhel happy. However, as they progressed, they encountered various rifts. Originally, Feyhel was happy to stop and close them, but as they neared the Hinterlands he ignored more than he closed. Varric had to remind Feyhel to close some of the rifts just to stop Solas from boiling himself to death with anger. The statement earned Varric a laugh from Feyhel and Blackwall, but a glare from Solas. 

As they passed through the Hinterlands, Feyhel decided to close one rift before they dismounted to continue on foot to the town. His left hand ached from the effort of closing the rifts but part of him felt proud that he could fix the tears, even if he started to tire of it. 

“So we walk from here?” Blackwall asked as they left the horses. including Aliyah, at an abandoned farm for a short time. 

“Yes, it will be easier to make our way through the town,” Feyhel said gently as they walked. When they approached the gates, the gatekeeper ran toward them shouting about it not being safe and that they should turn back. “That’s our queue, I believe,” Feyhel joked as he jogged toward the newly opened rift. Taking his staff from his back, he quickly began to fight the demons patrolling it. 

“What’s going on with these things?” Varric called out in confusion as he stepped into a yellow ring. Feyhel watched as his movements suddenly sped up. Quickly, he looked to Solas who’d stepped into a green ring and had his movements slowed. 

“Okay! Find a yellow ring and stand in it! Your attacks will increase in speed and we can get this closed faster!” Feyhel ordered as he joined Varric in the yellow ring. Blackwall and Solas found another. The two waves were dealt with quickly and the rift closed. As everything calmed, Feyhel exhaled and rested his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. 

“You did well, kid,” Varric said softly as he patted his back. “Good use of the mystery rings but… do you know what purpose they have?” he asked as he looked to the ground.

“Perhaps the Grand Enchanter could explain things?” Solas suggested as he joined Varric and Feyhel. Blackwall hummed in thought as he joined them too. 

As they prepared to enter the gates, they were met with a messenger who simply handed Feyhel a note and ran back in the direction he came. As Feyhel read over the note a few times to make sure he’d read it right, the words became clear. 

“That’s odd, apparently we’re not expected…” Feyhel muttered as he looked between his companions, all of which had the same look of confusion on their faces. “Well, we’re in but let’s proceed with caution. We also have a location for the Grand Enchanter, the Gull and Lantern” he stated as he slipped the letter into the pouch on his belt. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Walking through the town caused Feyhel’s hairs to stand on edge. Unease bubbled in his stomach, sending shivers down his spine. The last time he’d been uncomfortable to the point of nausea had been their visit to Val Royeaux. Something, in his mind, did not feel right. As they approached the tavern, Feyhel paused and looked around. No guards, nothing that looked out of the ordinary and nothing that explained his nauseating feeling. 

“Is this where they are?” Varric asked as they stopped in front of the tavern. Feyhel nodded and looked around again, making sure no one had followed them. Once he was sure that no one posed a threat, he slowly opened the door. 

When the group stepped inside, they were met by a group of mages and Tranquils. Eyes turned to focus on them making Feyhel feel uncomfortable with the attention. He cleared his throat and watched as the Grand Enchanter turned to look at them. 

“Herald, what an… unexpected surprise,” the Grand Enchanter spoke hesitantly as she walked over, shaking Feyhel’s hand. “I heard you were coming but I would like to know why,” she told him as she looked to Feyhel’s companions. 

“You invited us at Val Royeaux, remember? To discuss the mages helping with the breach?” Feyhel questioned with a raised eyebrow. He glanced at Varric who shared the same confused look when she shook her head. “Well… If we weren’t invited how do you think we knew to come here?” The elf queried.

“That I cannot tell you, but you are too late for our allegiance. We have sought aid with another,” she explained with a concerned look coming to her face. Feyhel definitely didn’t like where the conversation was going. “Here he is now,” she continued, pointing to the door. 

The first thing Feyhel noticed as the man walked in were the clothes he wore. Reds mixed with yellows and a pointed hood and iron armour woven in. The whole ensemble screamed Magister. Feyhel bit his tongue and clenched his fist to keep him from lashing out at the man. They locked eyes and the smirk that danced to the man’s lips was sickening. His face. Feyhel knew that face from many parties he’d been forced into attending by the same magister that appeared in every nightmare and flashback he experienced. However, this wasn’t the man who tortured him. There was no beard, his eye shape was wrong and his face was younger. Behind him was a younger male, the same face shape and eye colour. Son, perhaps? Feyhel didn’t recognise him. 

“So you are the famed survivor?” the man asked as he stepped forward, extending his hand. Slowly, Feyhel shook his hand with his right hand, the Solium mark giving a dull throb under his gloves as a reminder of the horrors that happened to him at the hands of a magister. The accent alone was enough to confirm his suspicions about the mages. His mind being thrown back into horrific memories of the grey haired magister that plagued him. “Magister Gereon Alexius, it’s a pleasure,” he stated, giving a smile to Feyhel. The smile sent more shivers down his spine. Feyhel knew his apprehension was correct, he knew something would go wrong. “This is my son, Felix. He is going to be our scribe,” Alexius explained as he motioned for them to follow him to a table. 

“You’re a very long way from home, Alexius,” Feyhel stated, venom dripping in his voice as he glared slightly at the man. A glare that was met with a smile as they sat down. 

“Indeed I am, but I hear you aren’t from around here either. Now, about the mages,” he began, leaning forward on the table. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

The conversation went smoothly, but with each passing word, the anger Feyhel felt became harder to suppress, desperate to boil over at any moment. It nearly erupted as Felix, the Magister’s son, clumsily crashed into him. Though one look at the bumbling, apologetic young man, Feyhel put on a smile and simply nodded to his apology. Feyhel was too preoccupied with the paper that had been deposited into his hand to listen to the hurried farewells of Alexius as he carted Felix out of the room. 

Once they were gone, Feyhel unrolled the small parchment with a frown before reading over the text telling them to go to the chantry. 

“What does it say?” Blackwall asked as the three companions walked over. 

“It’s a letter asking me to go to the chantry because I’m in danger,” Feyhel spoke as he showed them the parchment. “The magister’s son gave it to me…What do you all think? Perhaps it’s a trap?” 

“Definitely trap,” Varric agreed as he looked over the note slowly. “But also worth investigating,” he added as he looked to Feyhel, Solas and Blackwall nodding in agreement. 

“Well, to the chantry!” Feyhel called with a chuckle before putting the parchment into the pouch alongside the note about the Grand Enchanter. 

As they left, Feyhel decided to talk to one of the Tranquil that stood around the edge of the tavern. While speaking with him, he learned of his skills in alchemy. With a smile, he told the man to report to Haven. Once he had, Feyhel joined his companions outside the tavern. 

“So, to the chantry?” he asked with a smile before walking in the chantry’s direction.


End file.
